Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Fuck. No one is home. Annnnnd the internet's been out for over a week! I'm pornless and I need to get off and I need to get off now. What's a girl to do?

I lay back on my disheveled bed and close my eyes real tight, lift my dress and stick my hand down the front of my flower-patterned underwear. Who needs porn when I can replay the images in my head? Look I'm already wet and all I had to do was think about the last scene I watched: a blonde silicon-enhanced milf-type is bound on the floor of an immaculate kitchen getting face fucked by a perfectly tanned tribal tatted ab-guy. Black make-up streams down her cheeks with tears, fake eyelashes flutter as she gags and chokes on the big dick shoved down her throat again and again. He grunts, grabs her hair and thrusts, deeper down, demanding that she take it all while knocking her back on the shiny kitchen floor...

And there. I've lost it! And it's all because that damned floor. If only he hadn't pushed her back and caught the floor in the shot, the same as mine, but exponentially more shiny! I've gotten distracted and now I have to start all over again...huff.

I really settle in this time, tossing my panties to the floor, spreading my legs and digging my heels into the mattress. If I think about a hotter, more explicit scene it'll happen. I'm sure of it.

Rubbing my swollen clit wildly I think about a long scene I have bookmarked on my computer. Though I've seen it a handful of times I can only remember it in bits and pieces: it starts with three bears fully clothed tongue kissing on a bed, which eventually turns into three naked bears licking each other's ass's and sucking each other's cocks. They're sweaty, hairy and sensual beasts pumping and stroking each other fiercly and tenderly.

Goddamnit, this isn't doing it either. I'm jonesing now. If I don't get some mental stimulation to fix my physical situation I just might explode.

I run through the contacts on my phone and send a frantic sext to my boyfriend. "Want to know what I'm thinking about? I'm thinking about you pounding me on the table in the middle of that sushi place we went to last night."

Anxiously, I await a reply. One minute, then five go back. Strung out on untapped orgasms I send another text: "baby???" Seconds later my phone chimes and my hopeful hand is again rubbing between my legs, but I'm soon disappointed when the response gives me nothing.

I'm frustrated. I know you're at work, but couldn't you just sneak into the bathroom for one much needed dick shot? I'm starting to lose hope.

If I can't concentrate on scenarios I've seen and everyone is too busy doing more important things I'll just have to trick myself into having an orgasm.

I turn on music, real loud. I can't have the new neighbors overhear. Then I strip down completely, lay back on my bed one last time determined to drown out the distracting thoughts with my own voice. After a moments pause I stick a pillow over my face as an extra precaution. Deep breath and here I go...

"Oh yea. OH YEA! Take it just like that. You like it like that? Huh? HUH?" A torrential outpour of sex-talk streams out of mouth so fast, so loud that I can't think of anything else but their dirty connotations and my hot cunt. "Fuck me. FUCK ME! I want you to shove your fingers in and out of me, make me take them all. Shove your fist in. Make me wet, make me squirt all over you. Make me a dirty girl, you're little fuck toy. Just like that. Mhmm..."

Though heard a thousand times before in real-life banging and in porn-viewing situations these words hold no meaning now. They aren't describing any kind of real sex they are vessels of sex, dripping the gooey spirit of live-action when I am so desperately without. Pillow-muffled emissions of the feel, the essence of lewd and lascivious might just be the placebo I need to get me through the rest of this day.

I slap the tender inside of my thighs, squeeze my tits, run my fingers the length of my body then shove my fingers as deep inside my pussy as they will go, never lifting the fingers of my right hand off my clit. I stroke - slowly then faster and faster as the words echo about the room, bouncing off the bare walls and back at me, writhing bare and nearly broken on the bed.

Getting closer I let out the loudest, porn-saturated fake orgasm sound I can muster and  I cum, for real, real hard, forcing a satisfied whimper out of me nearly inaudible over the music and the pillow still stuffed over my head.